She's Absolutely Mad
by Gentle and Dangerous
Summary: After I read "Clockwork Angel", I got to thinking about a character that could've possibly fit into the book. This character's name is Anastasia Rosefair and if you read the title, you know that she's absolutely mad. This story is basically "Clockwork Angel" with Anastasia. The content of this story and the characters (excluding Anastasia) belong to Cassandra Clare.


This chapter contains references to self-harm and other touchy subjects, so it may be triggering to some of you.

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><p><strong>London, April 1878<strong>

The demon exploded in a shower of ichor and guts.

William Herondale jerked back the dagger he was holding, but it was too late. The viscous acid of the demon's blood had already begun to eat away at the shining blade. He swore and tossed the weapon aside; it landed in a filthy puddle and commenced smoldering like a doused match. The demon itself, of course, had vanished - dispatched back to whatever hellish world it had come from, though not without leaving a mess behind.

"Jem! Stasia!" Will called, turning around. "Where are you two? Did you see that? Killed it with one blow! Not bad, eh?"

But there was no answer to Will's shout; his hunting partners had been standing behind him in the damp and crooked street a few moments before, guarding his back, Will was positive, but now Will was alone in the shadows. It wasn't unusual for Anastasia to wander off while Will fought, but Jem almost always remained near him. Maybe he had noticed Stasia's absence and gone to look for her?

Will frowned in annoyance - it was much less fun showing off without having anyone to show off _to_. He glanced behind him, to where the street narrowed into a passage that gave onto the black, heaving water of the Thames in the distance. Through the gap Will could see the dark outlines of docked ships, a forest of masts like a leafless orchard. No Jem or Anastasia there; perhaps they had gone back to Narrow Street in search of better illumination. With a shrug Will headed back the way he had come.

Narrow Street cut across Limehouse, between the docks beside the river and the cramped slums spreading west toward Whitechapel. It was as narrow as its name suggested, lined with warehouses and lopsided wooden buildings. At the moment it was deserted; even the drunks staggering home from the Grapes up the road had found somewhere to collapse for the night. Will liked Limehouse, liked the feeling of being on the edge of the world, where ships left each day for unimaginably far ports. That the area was a sailor's haunt, and consequently full of gambling hells, opium dens, and brothels, didn't hurt either. It was easy to lose yourself in a place like this. He didn't even mind the smell of it - smoke and rope and tar, foreign spices mixed with the dirty river-water smell of the Thames.

Looking up and down the empty street, he scrubbed the sleeve of his coat across his face, trying to rub away the ichor that stung and burned his skin. The cloth came away stained green and black. There was a cut on the back of his hand too, a nasty one. Will didn't understand how Anastasia could cut herself willingly; this cut was only half as bad as Stasia's normally were and it hurt like hell. He could use a healing rune. One of Charlotte's, preferably. She was particularly good at drawing _iratzes_.

A shape detached itself from the shadows and moved toward Will. He started forward, then paused. It wasn't one of his companions, but rather a mundane policeman wearing a bell-shaped helmet, a heavy overcoat, and a puzzled expression. He stared at Will, or rather_ through_ Will. However accustomed Will had become to glamour, it was always strange to be looked through as if he weren't there. Will was seized with the sudden urge to grab the policeman's truncheon and watch while the man flapped around, trying to figure out where it had gone; but Jem had scolded him the few times he'd done that before, and while Will never really could understand Jem's objections to the whole enterprise, it wasn't worth making him upset.

With a shrug and a blink, the policeman moved past Will, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about swearing off the gin before he truly started seeing things. Will stepped aside to let the man pass, then raised his voice to a shout: "James Carstairs! Anastasia Rosefair! Where _are_ you? Making love in the shadows?"

This time a faint reply answered him. "Over here. Follow the witchlight."

Will moved toward the sound of Jem's voice. It seemed to be coming from a dark opening between two warehouses; a faint gleam was visible within the shadows, like the darting light of a will-o'-the-wisp. "Did you two hear me before? That Shax demon thought it could get me with its bloody great pincers, but I cornered it in an alley-"

"Yes, we heard you." The young man who appeared at the mouth of the alley was pale in the lamplight - paler even than he usually was, which was quite pale indeed. He was bare-headed, which drew the eye immediately to his hair. It was an odd bright silver color, like an untarnished shilling. His eyes were the same silver, and his fine-boned face was angular, the slight curve of his eyes the only clue to his heritage.

There were dark stains across his white shirtfront, and his hands were thickly smeared with red.

Will tensed. "You're bleeding. What happened? Where's Stasia?"

Jem waved away Will's concern. "It's not my blood." He turned his head back toward the alley behind him. "Stasia's over there. With her."

Will glanced past his friend, into the thicker shadows of the alley. In the far corner of it was a crumpled shape, next to it another figure that he assumed was Stasia. When Will looked closely at the crumpled shape, he could make out the shape of a pale hand, and a wisp of fair hair.

"A dead woman?" Will asked. "A mundane?"

"A girl, really. Not more than fourteen."

At that, Will cursed with great volume and expression. Jem waited patiently for him to be done.

"If we'd only happened along a little earlier," Will said finally. "That bloody demon-"

"That's the peculiar thing. I don't think it was the demon's work." Jem frowned. "Shax demons are parasites, brood parasites. It would've wanted to drag its victim back to its lair to lay eggs in her skin while she was still alive. But this girl - she was stabbed, repeatedly. And I don't think it was here, either. There isn't simply enough blood in the alley. I think she was attacked elsewhere, and she dragged herself here to die of her injuries. Stasia is over there looking for more information."

"But the Shax demon-"

"I'm telling you, I don't think it _was_ the Shax. I think the Shax was pursuing her - hunting her down for something, or someone, else."

"Shaxes have a keen sense of scent," Will allowed. "I've heard of warlocks using them to follow the tracks of the missing. And it did seem to be moving with an odd sense of purpose." He looked past Jem, at the pitiful smallness of the shape in the alley. He spoke to Anastasia. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes, actually." She replied, moving out of the shadows and standing next to Jem. Her trousers and hands were stained with blood, and she had dots of red on her face.

Will studied her for a moment. The girl had hair so blonde that it could easily pass for white if you looked at it from afar and bright green eyes, framed by eyelashes the same color as her hair. She was as pale as any normal Londoner and had a healthy flush to her cheeks. Her small mouth was embellished by an optimistic smile. She could easily be a normal shadowhunter if it weren't for her childish demeanor and vague understanding of how to properly behave. Other than those flaws, she was quite intelligent.

"That's grand, Stasia. What did you find?" Jem kindly asked.

"Here." Stasia drew something from inside her jacket - a knife, wrapped in white cloth. "It's a sort of misericord, or hunting dagger. Look how thin the blade is."

Will took it. The blade was indeed thin, ending in a handle made of polished bone. The blade and hilt both were stained with dried blood. With a frown he wiped the flat of the knife across the rough fabric of his sleeve, scraping it clean until a symbol, burned into the blade, became visible. Two serpents, each biting the other's tail, forming a perfect circle.

"_Ouroboros_," Anastasia said, leaning in close to stare at the knife. "A double one. Now, what do you think that means?"

"The end of the world," said Will, looking at the dagger, a small smile playing about his mouth, "and the beginning."

Jem frowned. "We understand the symbology, William. I think she meant, what do you think its presence on the dagger signifies?"

The wind off the river was ruffling Will's hair; he brushed it out of his eyes with an impatient gesture and went back to studying the knife. "It's an alchemical symbol, not a warlock or Downworlder one. That usually means humans - the foolish mundane sort who think trafficking in magic is the ticket for gaining wealth or fame."

"The sort who usually end up a pile of bloody rags inside some pentagram." Jem sounded grim.

"The sort who like to lurk about the Downworld parts of our fair city." After wrapping the handkerchief around the blade carefully, Will slipped it into his jacket pocket. "D'you think Charlotte will let me handle the investigation?"

"Do _you_ think you can be trusted in Downworld? The gambling hells, the dens of magical vice, the women of loose morals..." Stasia trailed off. She looked at Will with a playfully mocking smile, signaling she was just poking fun.

Will smiled the way Lucifer might have smiled, moments before he fell from Heaven as he turned to Jem. "Would tomorrow be too early to start looking, do you think?"

Jem sighed. "Do what you like, William. You always do."

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><p>And here we have the prologue. I would greatly appreciate it if you guys gave me some advice on how to make the story better. Thanks for reading!<p> 


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